Letters of Cowardice
by ManhattanMadame
Summary: Who knew writing a Dear John would be so hard to deal with? Oneshot. Peyton/Mac.


**Disclaimer: Sadly, they're not mine. I do not own, nor do I claim to own, anybody from the show. **

**Notes: Sheldon/Alessandra story coming soon I promise.  
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**Thanks: ****I just wanted to say thank you to everybody who read, reviewed and/or favourited my last story "Christmas With My Prince" ****especially _Lime_Sweet_Pea, mjels, afrozenheart412, CSINYPacker012 and Brinchen86. _**

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She felt the regret and the guilt overwhelm her before the envelope had even fallen to the bottom of the post box. There was no taking back her words now. Her rectangular envelope, trimmed with red and green, would be laying amongst all of the others letters and cards littering the inside of the tall red post box.

She allowed her thoughts to shift to the other envelopes, what would they contain? Cards of celebration, cards of sympathy, letters that would make somebody's day, letters that would break somebody's heart, letters that would break somebody's bank, letters of love, and letters of hate. She wondered briefly what category her letter would fall into; _letters of cowardice _she thought. She knew she had never had enough of Mac to break his heart however she had just enough of him to break her own.

It had taken her three attempts to write the letter, the inky tears which streaked her previous attempts perfectly mirrored the mascara tracks staining her face as she had allowed the tears to spill from her eyes and onto the page in the same way she had allowed her feelings and heart to do so in her words.

"Peyton?" a male voice broke her out of her melancholic reverie. She blinked a few times to clear the tears that had started to form in her blue eyes again. "Have you listened to word I just said?" the man said with a smile.

"Of course, I think the new technology will really change the way we do our jobs. It's definitely going to lead the way in the field of forensic pathology" Peyton replied softly, thankful for the notes she had read prior to the informal dinner she was now having with her former teacher.

"Oh absolutely, it's going to revolutionise the profession…" he continued, oblivious to Peyton allowing her mind to drift once again from what the man was saying. In order to feign interest, she studied his appearance, nodding and murmuring agreement as and when she noted a change in his expression. He was a reasonably tall man with thin, pointed features; he wore dainty round spectacles halfway down the bridge of his nose, his grey hair was thin and wispy and usually covered by a dark grey fedora and he wore a tweed three piece suit paired with perfectly shined black shoes. The outfit made him look somewhat eccentric and dated yet it afforded him an air of authority and intelligence that evaded many others, he looked every inch the intellectual professor. He was also a very verbose man, something Peyton had appreciated when she had been his student and something she could normally tolerate as a patient person, however tonight his words were slowly grinding her down and sending her further into her own mind.

"Excuse me, I won't be a moment" she said softly as she excused herself from the table and made her way to the bathrooms at the far end of the large dining room.

As soon as she was safely ensconced within the confines and privacy of the bathroom she felt a rush of emotion overtaking her entire being, the feelings of guilt, regret and hurt were so intense they brought her to her knees in the middle of the bathrooms. She could feel the guilt bubbling away in her stomach until she could taste the bitterness of her actions in her mouth; a wave of nausea swept over her entire body as she thought of Mac opening her letter.

Slowly she pulled herself to her feet, her hands clutching the edge of the marble sink so tightly her delicate knuckles turned deathly white. Looking at herself in the oval mirror which was attached to the wall above the sink she felt disgusted with her own reflection. She might as well have painted the words 'coward' on her forehead because she could see the word written all over her face, she saw her own weakness in every line on her face: in her deep blue eyes, in the downturned corners of her mouth, in the hollows of her cheeks and in the pallor of her skin.

Why could she not have called him? Better still, why didn't she tell him face to face when he had been in London with her a little over a month ago?

"You idiot Peyton!" she scolded her reflection. She could have told him last month when they had been together in London instead of introducing him to her family and falling even more in love with him but she was scared. Scared to tell him face to face and see his reaction; she wasn't worried that he would be angry, no; she was worried that he wouldn't care at all. She was worried that he would be almost relieved, that he would be too calm or too accepting. Even if she phoned him she was worried that she would still hear it in his tone of voice; at least by sending him a letter she would be oblivious to his reaction and that way his reaction could not hurt her. Only she could do that. She wondered if his reaction could hurt her more than she was hurting herself, the pain she felt in her heart when she recalled the moment he referred to her as Claire told her all she needed to know.

The memory caused the tears to form in her eyes yet again, she had been understanding when it came to Mac's marriage and the death of his wife. She had never once tried to replace Claire in Mac's heart, she had never tried to erase Claire from his life or his memories, she had always allowed room for the third person in their relationship and never once had she been bitter or resentful about it. When Mac had called her Claire she felt her heart sink to her feet, although it was a sure sign he cared deeply for her it also told her he was not even close to coming to terms with having a serious relationship.

_There will always be an ocean between us_ she had said in her letter and it was true, both literally and metaphorically. Whilst geographically the Atlantic Ocean would always separate them whilst Mac was in New York and Peyton was in London, even that was a smaller gap than the one in his heart between his late wife and Peyton and whilst she didn't resent that, she couldn't live like that either.

Her naturally reasoning mind was telling her it was this logic which had caused her to write her letter. She was sure Mac would be fine, her heart needed to believe he would be fine.

"Excuse me, are you okay?" a female voice asked. Peyton had been so caught up in her own thoughts she hadn't heard the door to the bathroom open.

"I'm fine, thank you" Peyton lied.

She would tell herself the same thing every day for the next six months until finally, her lie became the truth.


End file.
